Dragoncrest Cliffs Retrograde

The sound of shuffling steps joined the ocean’s cadence. Njord reluctantly opened his somber eyes to see someone he would have never expected. “Quennell?” his voice quietly flexed, caught off-guard in the middle of a private moment.

Erzulie’s son had been just a wee lad with a ruddy coat when Njord saw him last. Now, a month older than his own brood, Quennell was on his way to becomming a strapping young man. The colors of his fur has bloomed with age, and Njord couldn’t help but eye the cadmium red of his nape and think Sveijarn.

The seaman remained where he laid, drained of energy. Yet, he managed a weary smile.

“Where ‘av you been hidin’ lad? Out adventurin’?” he wagered.